


Let Go

by WhoNeedsNormal



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal toys, F/M, Face-Fucking, Gags, Gang Rape, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Throat Fucking, rough anal sex, spider gag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3123350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNeedsNormal/pseuds/WhoNeedsNormal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fantasy becomes reality (sort of) for Steve Rogers.</p><p>(Please be aware of the tags.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

Something isn’t right, that much is absolutely certain.  He’s groggy and unstable, but can’t seem to move his arms or legs much past small little jerks that stress his already sore arms.  The thick metal cuffs around his upper arms and lower legs keeping him firmly in place.  It takes him a minute to figure out how they’ve managed to keep him on his hands and knees, how he was upright even unconscious, and then he feels the metal that digs into his abdomen and the flesh under his arms.  More alarming than that, or the near darkness that surrounds him, is the fact that he appears to be very, very nude.

 

“Someone wanna tell me what the hell’s going on,” he calls as he angles his head up a bit and tries to work his arms free again, “If this is supposed to be some sort of joke, it’s not funny!

 

“You really should relax, Captain Rogers.  Tensing up is only going to make the inevitable so much worse.  Of course, if you do stay tense, you’re going to make it more fun for my friends, here,” a voice murmurs right next to his ear, making him jerk his head away.

 

It’s a voice he recognizes, soft and feminine, he simply can’t place where he recognizes it from.  He doesn’t really have chance to figure it out as slender fingers press into his hair and jerk his head back.  There is a prick of watering in his eyes at it, so he narrows them, trying to bring her face into focus.  A soft growl rumbles in his throat when two fingers from her free hand shove past his lips and teeth, pressing to his tongue.  “I’d make them good and wet if I were you,” she laughs, making him tense all the more.  

 

A good idea of just what’s coming makes him sink his teeth into those fingers, not hard enough to cause any permanent damage, but hard enough to be a warning shot.  He’s pleased when she pulls those digits free, though he finds that pleasure doesn’t last long.  She doesn’t say another word, she doesn’t have to, because he feels the sharpness of intense pain on his bare backside.  Though he can’t see what causes it, he’s fairly certain it’s a stun baton.  It doesn’t really matter what it is, as it’s given her the desired effect.  The sudden burst makes him cry out, mouth opening wide, and metal is instantly between his lips.

 

Embarrassingly, Steve knows exactly what it is, he’s had one in his mouth before.  The metal legs of the spider-gag dig into his cheeks and he is all too aware that he won’t be able to bring his teeth down like that again.  The fingers dip back into his mouth, swirling through the saliva that immediately begins to pool.  He tries to push them out with his tongue; it does no good, but he refuses not to fight somehow.

 

“This is going to hurt,” she laughs, the sound making gooseflesh prickle on his skin, “But I suspect you knew that already.”

 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it _could_ , because she works just one finger in at first.  She’s not doing it to bring him pleasure, he knows that, but the addition of the second finger presses something inside that makes him buck slightly.  Not as much as he would have were he not held in place so securely.  “He’s gonna be stretched plenty by the time we’re done with him,” a new voice fills the room, this one masculine, “You really think that’s necessary?”

 

The voice doesn’t ring any bells, not immediately, but the footfalls do.  He recognizes the sound scuffed boots make as they move closer.  STRIKE wears those boots, they always have.  Or they did, when STRIKE still existed, before... _before_ …

 

“You actually are as dumb as you look, Rumlow.  He doesn’t open up some, he’s gonna destroy that pitiful thing you call a cock.  Just hand me the big one and fuck his face,” her voice drifts away from his ear, but not so far that her hand lets go of his hair.

 

At least, not until the man who joined her grabs his face.   _Rumlow_.  They were _friends_ once, teammates; he tells himself that even today.  They were friends.  Now the man’s dick is sliding into his mouth and all Steve wants to do is bite down on it, bite it off.  He can’t, of course, the gag in his mouth preventing him from doing anything at all.  In no time at all, there is pressure in his throat and he’s choking, he’s gagging, he wants it gone.  He just can’t make it move, no matter what he does.  Breathing isn’t easy, but he knows he can take little breaths if he works his throat instead of fighting it.  Those are his choices; continue to fight and risk losing consciousness again or give in and help the bastard rape his throat.

 

In the end, he thinks passing out is probably a bad idea, so he does his best to relax, to work his throat around the intrusion.  The build up of saliva is almost too much, he’s already humiliated by what’s happening and now he has to deal with the spit that slips past the cock on his tongue.  “Told you this little bitch would deep throat like a pro.  Bet he’s had all sorts of dick in his throat, haven’t you big guy,” Rumlow grunts into between thrusts into his mouth and it’s all Steve can do not to start struggling again.  Despite the man’s taunts, he finally manages to settle into a rhythm, to not think too hard about what he’s doing

 

His extensive training pushes his mind to that place where it’s just an action, where he doesn’t have to focus on anything that’s happening, until he feels a new intrusion.  It’s not one he’s entirely unfamiliar with, save for just how much pain is involved.  The toy is hard, thick, and only slightly wet when it pushes into him as deeply as he can take it.  He makes what sounds like a choked off cry  around the piece of flesh in his throat and that causes it to still completely.  When it pulls back completely, he wants to take a gasping breath, but the gag prevents it.

 

“There, there, Captain, just take it.  Stop clenching your hole so hard, let me open you up a bit,” her voice finally comes again and it’s soft, free hand lightly stroking his lower back as if to soothe him and, oh how he _hates_ her for it, “You’ll thank me later for this.”

 

That earns her the best indignant noise he can muster.   _Thank her_?  He tries to push the toy out of his body only to be met with harsh resistance, enough that the fight doesn’t last long.  He feels himself opening up, bit by bit, as she works the toy at a slow pace in and out of his body.  He knows that’s probably not a bad thing, given what’s coming his way next, but he’s still more than a little bit horrified by how his body is reacting.  There is embarrassment, too; only made worse when the hand that was stroking his back moves to stroke the erection that he hasn’t been able to fight down.  He can’t even bit his lip against the garbled moan that leaps from his throat.

 

“Would you look at that?  You like that, huh, Cap?  Just wait, I’m gonna give you what you really want,” there is a promise of pain in that voice and Steve jerks his head away from it, only to be held in place as Rumlow rubs his cock on the flesh of his cheek.

 

“You really gonna pretend he’s enjoying this, you idiot?  I’d ask if you have any idea how basic anatomy works, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that,” he makes note of the fact that she obviously doesn’t like Rumlow as she drags the toy from his now aching hole, “Just fuck him and get it over with so the others can have their turn.  He’s got a date with the higher-ups later and they aren’t gonna wait for you goons to be done breaking him in.”

 

Those very few pieces of information make him tense right back up.  Others?  That can only mean one thing, the rest of what used to be his STRIKE team is going to be in on this.  He has questions, things he wants to ask, which seem ridiculous in light of the fact that pain floods him once again as Rumlow works deep into his body.  The sting of tears he refuses to shed returns and he feels the gentle stroke of fingers along his spine.  She’s trying to soothe him again as the man behind him begins to roughly spread him around his cock.  For the first time in his life, Steve actually wants to hit a woman.  He doesn’t want to be calm, doesn’t want this to feel _okay_.  If it hurts, if it’s horrible, he can take his mind back to that place where he doesn’t have to think about what’s happening.

 

Mercifully, Rumlow doesn’t take it easy, doesn’t take it slow.  He’s pounding into Steve’s body with as much force as he can muster and that makes it _hurt_.  That pain reminds him that this isn’t something he wants, even if his erection refuses to flag.  In just another few short strokes, the slide becomes easier, and he’s almost positive he’s bleeding.  Not a lot, but enough to slick his opening up a bit more.  He clenches around the intruder, hoping to speed the process up a bit, and is not disappointed.  

 

There is little comfort in the feeling of the come that coats his insides, other than the knowledge that it will ease the way for the others who will take him.  He knows now, without any doubt, that there will be others.  Their heavy footfalls make it absolutely clear that it was not simply a threat.  He wants to grimace when Rumlow wipes himself off on his thigh, but can manage little more than another indignant grunt.  

 

They talk, of course, seemingly all at once.  About how they are going to use him, how they are going to break him, how many of them have wanted this for a long time.  He finds it hard to believe he ever trusted these men with his life, but really wishes they would just get on with it.  The things they are calling him--cockslut, fuck hole, filthy whore--they are all meant to humiliate him, but it’s hard to humiliate someone who’s already bound and being used.  Hard to humiliate them further, anyway.

The now familiar stroke of those female fingertips is the only signal he gets that they are finally going to get down to business.  He tells himself he can take it, he’s survived worse, there’s no need to really brace himself.  Even as they begin to take him two at a time, trading insults over his back, he reminds himself that he’s alive and alive means a fighting chance.  He doesn’t choke on the cock that forces its way past the gag and into his throat, knowing it doesn’t matter if he fights it or not, they are still going use him anyway.  He only flinches a little when the next one pierces his ass, the pain substantially less now that the way is slicked with both come and his own blood.  He’ll survive this just like he’s survived everything else, no matter what they choose to do to him.

 

He has no idea how long they go, who takes more than one turn, he only knows that he can feel the come that slides from his ass.  He can feel it as it drips from his mouth in the saliva that he’s unable to swallow thanks to the gag.  He can feel it drying on his body where a few of them decided to to jerk off over him, as if marking him with it somehow made things worse.  Exhaustion works through his muscles, but he finds there is one thing he can hold onto.  His erection never flagged, but he also managed not to come.  Maybe his dignity isn’t entirely intact, but he hasn’t given them the satisfaction of taking that from him.  Of course, he knows it’s too much to hope that they will let him have this one small thing.

 

“You did good, Captain.  So good.  They didn’t think you’d be able to take it, because they apparently don’t know how supersoldiers work,” there is derision in her voice, but he doesn’t care, she’s been running the show this whole time and he knows it, “I’m going to take the gag out for now.  You’re allowed to spit out whatever has gathered in your mouth.”

 

He feels those delicate fingers remove the gag and he’s quick to spit, several times.  There’s a chance he’ll never get that flavor off of his tongue, but he doesn’t care.  At least he can work his jaw, at least he can close his mouth.  He is so tired, eyes swimming from the exhaustion, but he uses the tightness in his groin to keep himself from passing out entirely.  Unfortunately, it’s like the woman can read his mind, because he feels those same soft fingers stroke along his stomach, down to his hips.  Finally, they wrap around his cock and begin long, slow, strokes; from root to tip.  He chokes on the pleasure of the touch, because it shouldn’t feel good.

 

“D-don’t…” he stammers, his body wanting to buck into the movement of her hand.

 

“Just let it happen, Captain Rogers.  You’ll feel better if you do.  It will give you a chance to rest if you just let it happen,” her voice is soft as ever and he _really_ wants to hit her, to make her stop.  He can’t, of course, he’s still too tightly secured.  He grits his teeth against the way she touches him, knowing he won’t be able to hold back much longer.  He’s too tired to keep up that fight and he actually whines as his climax approaches.  “That’s right, almost there.  Almost there and then you can sleep, then you can rest,” he feels the strokes speed, but the pressure she applies doesn’t lessen, “You need rest for what comes next.  Let your body do what it needs to do.  Let go.”

 

He chokes on a cry as he can no longer stop his body from the inevitable and spills across her fingers.  The tears he’s held onto this entire time finally fall as well.  Several exhausted and overwhelmed sobs slip out before he regains control of himself.  He can hear her murmuring again, telling him how well he’s done, telling him to take his well deserved rest.  It sounds like background noise as he feels himself fading slightly, no longer caring about remaining conscious, no longer caring about much of anything at all.  When unconsciousness takes him, it is nearly blissful.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

It’s several hours later when he wakes, propped in a tub full of water that’s almost to the point of scalding.  It feels good against his aching muscles, but it takes his mind several seconds to process where he is, what’s happening.  He closes his eyes, leans his head into the set of fingers that he realizes are stroking through his hair.  They are fingers he recognizes, delicate and slender, and he smiles sleepily.

 

“How in the hell did you find someone that _sounds_ like Rumlow,” he murmurs and relaxes into the water just a bit.

 

“I told you I would,” he feels her lips press to his shoulder, realizing moments later that she’s gently cleaning him off with her free hand, “I didn’t touch you too much, did I?  Tried to keep my distance as much as I could, but...well…”

 

A laugh rumbles up from his chest, through his sore throat, and he tips his head to nuzzle her hair, “You were perfect.   _It_ was perfect.  ……...Are you sure they won’t say anything?”

 

“They were the best money could buy, Steve.  What happened in that room doesn’t leave it.  For any reason.  Now shush and let me get you cleaned up, before you wind up with a permanent glaze of come,” her voice is the same comfort it’s been for a long time now, so he eases into the water just a bit more and lets her finish what she’s started.

  
When he’d first admitted to the fantasy, to the number of times he’d brought himself off thinking about his former team using him, he’d barely been able to say the words.  He’d been afraid to look her in the eye, fear of how she saw him after that admission making his stomach roil.  Now, he’s glad he trusted her with that just as much as he trusts her with everything else in his life.  Now, he doesn’t feel so wrong, so _bad_.  Maybe he still feels a little bit dirty, but that’s okay, too.  For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers doesn’t judge _himself_ for the things that he needs and wants.  For the first time in a long time, he just lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow, and the STRIKE Team belong solely to Marvel and the author claims no ownership herein.
> 
> The original female character belongs to the author.
> 
> This work contains a rape fantasy being played out in a consensual manner. The author does not condone actual rape. Safe, sane, and consensual role playing of a fantasy is not the same thing as non-consensual sex and should not be confused for it.
> 
> This work was written for a friend who wanted to see Steve Rogers play out a rape fantasy.


End file.
